Fragile
by MorphailEffect
Summary: Oneshot, SanadaYukimura. Sanada's thoughts as he visits Yukimura at the hospital.


DISCLAIMER: Konomi Takeshi owns Prince of Tennis and its characters. I don't. 

NOTES: I've done something like this before, in a previous fic, "After the Fall." This is shorter and more off the top of my head. Sanada second-person POV. 

And as with most of my Rikkai fics, none of the info here is official. I'm simply guessing. And very much enamored with this pair as of the moment. 

Somehow inspired by a Sting song of the same title... which is Not a Love Song, no. 

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**Fragile**   
by MorphailEffect 

  
  


You should have said no. 

But you sit back down as he requested. 

After he says _"Thank you,"_ you exchange no more words. 

You lean back, cross your arms and look out at nothing. He turns his face away from you and looks out at nothing. 

Time passes. 

The lack of activity is far from comfortable, but you aren't in a position to point that out. You've agreed to fulfill a request, and you shouldn't complain. 

Without intending to, your gaze wanders to his face. You watch his eyelids grow heavy. Finally he lets out a small sigh and closes his eyes. 

You wait for the sound of his breathing to settle into a slow rhythm. This hospital ward has never seemed so silent. 

Then you realize the blankets are only covering his lower half. His hands are folded on his stomach, unprotected. 

You stand, lean over, and draw the blankets up to his chin. 

Carefully. He mustn't wake up. 

He stirs a little. His sleeping face turns toward you. 

You've done your duty. You should be going home. 

But it isn't easy to stop leaning over him like this. 

This one has never asked you to be gentle. You've always thought you never had to be. Standing closer to him than anyone else, you know he's made of stronger stuff than what people see. 

But today you've gone a little closer. What you used to know about him no longer applies... 

Watching him sleep. 

Slowly you pull yourself upright. You realize you're still staring at his face. If he wakes up now, he would catch you at it. 

It doesn't matter. Nothing has been awkward between the two of you for years. 

You sit. 

You wonder if he's dreaming. 

For the first time, you wonder what someone like him would dream about. 

  
  


You'd set out to be the best at something. You had a goal and you were going to achieve it, no matter the cost. 

You always believed you were stronger than anyone. That you could do anything. That all you needed to do was put your mind to it. 

This person proved you wrong. 

You played at full power, using all the moves you've mastered, pushing your own stamina to the limit. 

And still you lost. 

A series of unreturnable shots. You had forgotten what those were, what they felt like. 

As the last ball touched your side of the court, you felt for a fleeting second like everything you'd worked for meant nothing. Like you had to start over from the very beginning. 

Then this person approached the net, and smiled at you. He told you that you were the toughest person he'd ever played. 

And it made things simple. 

He extended his hand and you grabbed it. 

His grip was stronger than yours. 

  
  


You would have started to obsess about beating him on the court -- it was your way. But for some strange reason, you couldn't foster a rivalry with him. 

Every time you tried to tell him that you were going to be stronger than him eventually, the two of you ended up joking about it. 

_"You know, you can't possibly do that while your service games suck." _

"I'll work on my serves. Meanwhile, I'm warning you about that special volley. If you don't master that, you're going to trip up and break your nose someday." 

"And I bet you're going to be laughing in my face. Like I'm laughing in your face now." 

You and he shared a hatred for losing. But you know you hated it more than he did. It was only your influence that got him to become more serious about the game. 

In turn, he infected you with his pure love for the sport. 

You've always taken winning seriously. 

But when it comes to him, you feel you shouldn't. 

Losing is a fact of life, after all...it's only easier to accept if he was the only peer in the world you were ever going to lose to. 

  
  


You'd had to encourage him to go through with the surgery. Though looking back at it now, you see it hadn't been so much encouragement as bullying. 

_"It's for the good of the team,"_ you said. _"We all need you in top condition. If a surgery is the solution to all our problems, there's no need to shy away from it. We have a goal, and you aren't going to hold us back."_

You told him sternly that you didn't even know why he was hesitating. 

He looked at you with hurt eyes. Smiled. 

_"...You're right. I shouldn't hold the team back."_

The way he held your gaze made you think you should have said something comforting. But you didn't understand it, so you pushed it out of your mind. 

You have never understood him. You are never going to pretend that you do. 

He will just always be the one who smiles more. 

  
  


It's growing late. But you're still here. You know you could have avoided being trapped in such a situation... 

_"Do you have to leave right away?" _

"No..." 

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" 

You looked at him in askance. 

You should have said no. There was no reason to stay. 

You shouldn't be indulging an emotional weakness. 

_"It won't be a long wait,"_ he assured you. _"They've given me something to help me sleep."_

After a thoughtful pause, you sat. He watched you impassively. 

_"...Thank you."_

You think that maybe, what made you stay was something in the sound of his voice, as he made his request. 

It doesn't make sense, but maybe he's superior to yourself in this regard, as well. 

He will never say he's afraid. 

And he will never say he needs you. 

But you will always find yourself watching over him like this, if only because he asked. 

  
  


(The End) 


End file.
